“Among other things,” he said, and his metallic eyes slid down the length of me, brow arching as he took in the eclectic blouse I’d paired with my old jean overalls. They were baggy and hid more than they revealed, but the way his eyes careened each inch, it felt more like I was in a bra and panties.

I cleared my throat, taking a sip of my coffee. “So, do you sleep in the back of the store here, or…?”

He ran a hand back through his long hair, crossing his ankle over his knee again before pulling the guitar back into his lap. “I’m working on a song, and I was a little stunted in my dorm, so I thought a change of scenery could help.”

“Has it?”

“Sadly, no,” he confessed. “There’s something off, but I can’t figure out what.”

“Play it for me.”

His eyes shot open. “Yeah?”

I just smiled, sipping my coffee, pretending like this was totally chill and cool and like I wasn’t freaking out internally that Shawn Stetson was about to play an unreleased song for me.

He cracked his neck, sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat before he began.

The intro was soft and slow, smooth chords peppered by brief taps of the heel of his palm against the box of his guitar. It was percussion and strings all in one, the beat seductive and alluring.

I nodded my head in time with it, hips moving subtly in my seat. When Shawn glanced up at me, his eyes froze on that little hip movement, and my neck heated at the lingering gaze.

I couldn’t wait to tell Clay.

He’d be so proud of me, how I’d walked right up to Shawn at the table, how cool I’d played the whole thing. I was becoming a natural — or, at the very least, I was leaps and bounds ahead of the girl who couldn’t even hold Shawn’s gaze across a crowded coffee shop just a few weeks ago.

I was still thinking about how excited I was to tell Clay when Shawn started singing, his voice rough and edgy, smoky like a brush fire.

“I like

the moon

when it bleeds

through the window

and paints your flesh.

I like

your legs

when they’re spread

and you’re burning

for me, babe.”

I nearly choked on my coffee, but somehow managed to cover it up and hold my composure as a smirk creeped up on Shawn’s devilish mouth.

“I like

the mountains

of your breasts

when they’re swelling

and peaking

and aching for my mouth.

I’ll give

you what

you want if you

just open up and say

that magic word.”

There was a break in the chords, the heel of his palm beating on the guitar in time with the tap of his fingers in a fluid percussion before he launched into the chorus.